


Dragon's Betrayal

by Nalyd



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Dragons, Fun stuff all around, Gen, Lots and lots of 'em, Tarkir, and poison, and pseudo-lightsabers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 12:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20760014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalyd/pseuds/Nalyd
Summary: Lishue is a young graceblade of the Ojutai, a warrior of exceptional skill that can manifest weapons of pure energy. She and the dragon she serves have been tasked with raiding key caravans deep in Silumgar territory, something they usually manage with ease. But something goes wrong in their latest attack, and Lishue's loyalty is put to the test. Is the mysterious Silumgar operative telling her the truth? Or does she have a secret, sinister motivation?





	Dragon's Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> "Dragon's Betrayal" is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

_ Why eat now what could one day grow into a feast? Haste is the downfall of the careless, patience is the trait of the wise, but only the truly enlightened know when to act. Life is often insidious, yet we must not fall into the temptation of mindlessly taking opportunities as they arise. Nor should we rely on happenstance. The apprentice walks their path, the master also clears it of obstacles. Others hunt what they find, we cultivate our food. Knowledge. Planning. Detachment from the self. These are the qualities required to strive for a life governed by the highest principles and rationale. _

**They're** **here**, Yetsunma growled in Draconic, ending Lishue’s meditation. The dragonspeaker opened her eyes to find herself back in the skywise’s paws, suspended hundreds of feet in the air. The Sagu jungle stretched far and wide below them, cut off only by a deep streambed. A wide, rocky bridge connected the jungle to a tunnel that cut through a series of hills. A perfect spot for an ambush.

A veil of fog had inched its way to the bridge, heralding the mages that conjured it and the cargo they escorted. 

_ Right on time, _ Lishue thought. _ Our information was correct. _

The mist made it difficult to estimate their numbers, but Lishue had faith in the dragon’s capabilities. And if Yetsunma had made the unusual choice of taking on a djinn as dragonspeaker, she would have to trust herself as well. **I am ready, master**.

The dragon arched, then dove like an arrow. Lishue steadied her breathing as the wind buffeted her white and gold clothing, focusing on inner clarity as they quickly approached the mist. _ One clan. One purpose. One path, _she told herself multiple times over, reaching for the blade-less hilt she kept strapped to her side. They dove into the mist. Below, someone yelled. The bridge burst into view, along with the cargo and dozens of Silumgar. Lishue spotted the mages as fast as she could as Yetsunma flew over, blasting sibsig with her icy breath. The dragon took a sharp turn and circled back, flying closer to the bridge as their enemies scrambled to organize. She started her ascent right before the edge of the bridge and Lishue jumped. She rolled the impact with the ground and ran towards the nearest mage, igniting her graceblade. Orders rang out, reminding her to take out the leaders quickly.

The tall, bald man had his eyes closed and his palms spread outwards, focusing on a spell. Lishue’s blade effortlessly darted in and out of his torso, drawing a shriek and splashes of blood. His body hit the floor as she dashed to her next target, an older mage. Another flash of her glimmering sword, another gurgling yelp, another lifeless body.

She took a moment to survey the scene. Ice was everywhere, along with sibsig corpses, cargo was strewn about but mostly intact, especially on the main stretcher. The captain was nowhere to be seen, but there were plenty of sibsig and a few mages left. Her gaze met that of a purple-clad woman with a black staff, their leader. Feeling a buzz of energy gathering towards her target, she dashed forward.

Yetsunma burst from the mist behind the mage with a deafening roar, crushing and freezing the nearby sibsig, making her stumble away in fear. A faint smile crossed Lishue's lips as she prepared to strike.

The smile vanished as her opponent cast a disarming spell and swatted the air with her free hand. The ethereal blade flew out of her hands and died out, with the handle flying off at its own angle and coming to a stop in a pile of discarded crates. Lishue watched it go in disbelief, then turned back to face her target. She was preparing another spell, a deadly one.

Remembering her spellfist training, Lishue drew in energy, then stepped forward with inhuman speed. Her open palm struck the base of the mage’s neck, collapsing her windpipe.

The mage fell backward, eyes wide open in shock, mouth slightly agape as she tried to gasp for air. Lishue held her gaze as she hit the ground, then moved on.

Only a few sorcerers remained on the bridge, running and shouting between the corpses, the shards of ice and the crates. Lishue ran after the nearest one, easily outpacing her. She reached her and struck the side of her neck with her forearm, breaking it instantly.

She jumped over as she fell, pursuing her next target. 

The young man saw her chase after him as he made for the jungle and turned around, extending his arms and flinging a swirl of black energy at her. Lishue easily dodged it, jumped, and kicked him in the ribs, sending him flying off the side of the bridge. She landed on her side and spun, lifting herself back up. She spotted one more mage running away. She smiled. 

_ Of course, running is the best course of action against us, if you want to extend your life _ , she thought. _ But only by a few moments. The Great Wheel turns ever onward. _

She ran after him.

Moments later, she let her arms drop to her sides as the body fell face-first onto the muddied pavement. As face-first as someone with a broken neck can, anyways.

_ Sloppy, _she scolded herself, turning around to survey the area. She walked back towards the middle of the bridge, cautiously stepping over scattered bodies, trails of ice, weapons, and smashed crates.

In the center of it all stood Yetsunma, crushing sibsig corpses with her weight. Her sinuous white and gray body now bore not only the natural red of her wingtips, underbelly, and frills, but also the crimson of her victims, splattered across her neck and limbs. She watched with unmoving white eyes as Lishue approached, folding her feathery wings onto her back.

**Good**_, _ she rumbled in Draconic. **But more precise**_. _

Lishue bowed rigidly under the dragon’s inquisitive gaze. **Yes, Master**_, _she replied in her heavy humanoid accent.

Yetsunma pondered her in silence, then shifted her attention to the pile of crates. **Let us search**.

Lishue followed her gaze. Many of the smaller containers were broken and scattered about, but the bulk of the load, about thirty or so large crates, sat on the discarded stretcher. The dragon shifted her weight and padded over to the pile, crushing bodies and boxes alike.

The monk's right hand instinctively went to her belt as she followed. Her graceblade hilt wasn't there.

_ Right. The mage, _she thought, trying to remember the direction the Silumgar had flung it. Her gaze easily found the woman's body, clad in dark purple hues. She spotted the nearest crates and walked over.

It took a bit of rustling around, but she found it under an elegant yet ruined carpet. As she lifted the pommel to check for damage, a deafening roar rang out.

Lishue spun around. A short figure stood in one of the crates. A thick, green mist unfurled from the intruder’s outstretched hands, coiling around the panicking dragon's head.

She ran at the assailant, spurred by her master's cries. Closing in, she ignited her sword and slashed at the enemy’s neck.

The assassin sidestepped her sword with ease, without compromising the flow of poisonous gas.

Surprised, Lishue pressed the attack. The assassin kept narrowly dodging her attacks, taking a step back every time. As she pushed her away from the dragon, Lishue realized that the Silumgari's left hand had stopped conjuring smoke, instead clutching a small, curved dagger. 

She tried to be wary of the deadly blade, but Yetsunma's agonized shrieks demanded immediate action.

Remembering a trick Master Shiulan taught her, she raised her sword high with both hands, preparing for a powerful vertical slash. Instead, she quickly lowered it to her side and dashed forward, striking with her left palm. 

The hit connected, and the assassin stumbled backward. Slipping on a thick sheet of ice, she lost her balance and fell backward onto the floor. 

The stream of poisonous mist subsided and the dagger fell from her hand, sliding on the ice and coming to a halt next to a body.

Panting, Lishue angled her bright sword downwards at her enemy. “It's over,” she said.

The aggressor glared back, her rich black skin making her stand out even more on the icy pavement. She looked very young, maybe even younger than twenty, but the many Silumgari marks on her face made it hard to tell for sure. She had braided black hair and was fully dressed in dark blue: a large leather vest went down to her hips, followed by long arm sleeves, wide-legged pants with two pouches affixed to their sides, and a pair of simple boots.

Yetsunma’s sudden roar forced Lishue back into the moment. 

“Don’t worry, Master!” she yelled, pivoting sideways so she could look back at the dragon while keeping her blade aimed at the assassin. “I’ve subdued the attacker, she’s not a threat anym-”

Yetsunma reeled back her head in an all-too-familiar motion.

Lishue froze, mouth half-open, eyes transfixed on the dragon’s sinuous form.

Yetsunma’s dark jaws split open.

And a white stream burst from her throat.

Lishue watched, incapable of moving. 

She watched as the freezing breath poured out of the dragon’s mouth.

She watched as death soared through the air like an arrow, filling her field of vision until nothing but incandescent white remained.

_ Slam! _Something crashed into her side, sending her flying. Completely disoriented, she landed with her back to the floor and slammed her head. 

Agony ripped through her senses, coursing through her body without mercy. For a brief forever, there was no Lishue, no Yetsunma, and no assassin, just an endless storm of throbbing pain. She gasped for air as her senses unceremoniously dumped her back into reality: the pain, the icy floor, the clear sky…

Yetsunma shrieked in agony, stronger than ever before. Lishue found the strength to leap back onto her feet, focusing her mind on the increasingly difficult task of not dying. She looked for the assassin.

She found her immediately. 

Next to the great dragon's bowed head, the tiny woman stood tall, clenching a dark pommel that jutted out of Yetsunma's forehead.

Lishue froze.

Transfixed, she watched Yetsunma's body collapse to the floor. The dragon gurgled her attempt at a final roar, then lay still.

Lishue stared into her glossy eyes and her world slowed to a stop, the passage of time evidenced solely by her heavy breathing and the blood rhythmically pulsing through her veins.

“Master…”

The assassin yanked her bloodied dagger from the dragon's body.

The dragonspeaker focused, mentally repeating the Ojutai wisdom she'd learned to steel her concentration in battle. She ignited her blade and marched towards the assassin.

“I hope you're ready to die!” she called out, tightening her grip on her sword.

The assassin finished cleaning her dagger and slipped it back into her left sleeve. She crossed her arms and gave Lishue a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Killing me after I saved you? Wouldn't be very enlightened of you, djinn.”

Lishue blinked. "What?'

The assassin’s smile widened. “I bodyslammed you out of the way of a very cold death, remember?”

"_You_ did that?” she asked incredulously.

“Who else?”

She glanced around. Nothing on the bridge but corpses and boxes. She looked back at the woman, trying to make sense of her. “Why… would you do that?”

“I felt like it.”

“What kind of answer is that?” Lishue growled, stepping closer as she held her blade to her side, lowering it just a little. She kept her eyes fixed on the assassin, ready to strike if she tried anything.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Unlike your master, I don't kill unless I have to.”

Lishue's eyes widened in shock. “What?!”

“Well, it tried to kill you when I was down and I saved you, so… extrapolate from that.”

“Extrapolate this!” Lishue yelled, stepping forward and slicing with her blade. 

The woman stood still as Lishue's arms and empty pommel passed in front of her neck, making her braided hair flutter for a moment.

Lishue stared at her hands and the pommel they gripped. “What…?”

She looked back up to find the assassin pointing a dagger at her throat with a smile. "Careful, monk. Every Silumgar blade carries the blessing of our Dragonlord."

She gulped. The blade was mere inches away from her, but with her enhanced agility and reflexes she could probably swat it away or sidestep it before-

The woman lowered her outstretched arm, keeping her dark brown eyes on her. “That's twice I let you live.”

Lishue felt the urge to punch a hole through her face. As a spellfist, she could certainly stand her ground even against an opponent with weapons… poisonous weapons, in this case. But… 

“I don't understand,” she said instead. “What is happening? What do you want?”

“It disappeared a little while ago. You didn't notice, did you?”

“I- my blade, how…?”

“I'm not talking about the sword. Well, not only the sword, anyways.”

“What?”

“Your… what do you call it? Ah yes, your ‘meditative clarity’. It's gone. And without that, you cannot use your fancy sword.” She grinned and tucked away her blade into her sleeve.

Lishue gripped the pommel tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “I don't need my blade to kill, you realize.”

“You haven't killed me yet."

“I…” the image of Yetsunma's icy breath barreling towards her flashed through her mind. "I don't know what's happening. I'm a dragonspeaker. I should've defended her. I should've killed you. But I failed."

"Why defend the life of someone who didn't hesitate to throw yours away?"

"I swore to protect and serve her. I've failed my clan and Lord Ojutai."

"Allow me to give you a word of advice," she said, glancing back at the huge corpse. "Dragons don't care about us. Take your dragon's actions as an important lesson, and learn."

Lishue looked her in the eyes. "There is nothing for me to learn anymore. As my master is dead, I am also doomed."

"Yes, you will be executed if they find out," she said slyly, "so don't let them."

"What are you saying?"

"You're deep in Silumgar territory-" she spread her arms to emphasize the jungle- "and as far as anyone knows, you're dead. Leave, go to a different monastery with a fake name, take up carpet-weaving or vase-making or whatever stupid craft you want, never fight again, and live a long life. You're welcome." She turned and started to walk towards the tunnel.

"Wait," Lishue called, taking a step towards her.

She stopped, still facing away.

"If you hate dragons so much, why do you do your dragonlord's bidding?"

The assassin glanced back, her piercing gaze locking her in place. "I am a dragonslayer for Lord Silumgar. There is no dragon save him who I fear."

Lishue stared, unsure of what to answer.

"What is your name, monk?"

"Lishue. Yours?"

"If we ever meet again, don't count on me sparing your life a third time, Lishue." She approached the tunnel.

"Tell me your name!" Lishue called again, louder.

"Xathi," she answered with a tilt of her head, without bothering to look back. Then she walked into the darkness.

///

Xathi strode through the halls of the Marang River Fortress paying little attention to the occasional passerby.

Two robed men followed her. She was used to being stalked, as Silumgar employed several ministers to keep an eye on her. These two were particularly troubling. 

Praset was a former Infallible whose career had been cut short when a Kolaghan lightning bolt permanently damaged his mobility and reflexes. He’d been one of the best up until that point and seethed with envy at Xathi’s every success. He was tall and olive-skinned, with black hair always kept in a ponytail. His face had been spared by the scars, but his neck had several crisscrosses that rose up from his torso. His warm brown eyes failed to convey his cold personality, but his pointy jaw and generally displeased expression tried their best.

Yudhom also used to be an Infallible, but in his case, old age had led Silumgar to repurpose him as a dedicated teacher for Infallibles-in-training and, with Xathi’s increasing successes, to one of her supervisors. Her former mentor had a large white mustache and no hair, having shaved his head many years before turning seventy. His left arm was missing, due to an unlucky encounter with an Atarka dragon, but aside from that it would’ve been difficult to guess that he’d lived a life of constant danger and conflict. His relaxed, friendly demeanor would’ve made most people put this experienced killer in their “harmless old man” list upon meeting him.

She tried to ignore them both, letting her gaze wander across the cracked stone pavement and the vines that snaked their way across the walls.

Faint rays of sunlight, already weakened by braving the jungle's vegetation, poured into the halls from the occasional holes in the tall ceiling, making the gloomy, unlit surfaces even darker by comparison.

The corridor ended and the trio found themselves walking towards the center of a gigantic circular room filled with guards. Several balconies and passageways dotted the walls as they curled upwards into a dome, broken well enough to let through the lazy jungle sun. Mounds of coins, crates, scrolls, gems, and valuables of many sorts defined the room's topography with golden, glimmering hills.

At the center of it all, basking in sunlight on the huge dais that barely contained him, sat the ruthless Dragonlord.

The trio stopped at a respectful distance, watching. Siara, the naga who currently held the title of Dragon's Mouth, was busy lecturing a young woman who kneeled between two sibsig guards.

"So, Karina," she hissed, "what is your Lord to do about your negligence?"

"I'm sorry," the woman replied with a broken voice. Looking carefully, Xathi noticed multiple scars across her exposed back. They were fresh. "I swear to you, I did what I was told! I increased the security and I did all the rounds! You have to believe me."

"Is that so," Siara began to circle around her victim, keeping her arms behind her back. "Are you insinuating this is the fault of our great Lord, for giving you faulty orders? That it's his fault a Deathbringer has been murdered and you didn't notice?"

Silumgar raised his mighty head and emitted a low rumble, as if offended that such an idea could be even brought up. His eyes were fixed on the woman.

"No! No, of course not, my Lord!" she squealed.

Siara gave a toothy grin as she slithered closer to her. "Then whose fault was it?"

Xathi looked away.

"I- I don't know, my Lord, somehow the killer managed to sneak by and-"

"Enough! You dare waste Lord Silumgar's time with petulant excuses? Take her away!" she proclaimed, gesturing to the guards.

"Wait! Please!" she yelled, but the sibsig did not listen as they grabbed her arms and forced her on her feet. "My Lord! I swear it won't happen again!" she yelled back as she was forced out of the room.

"You're right," Siara smirked, "it won't."

Silumgar grumbled, then brought his head back onto the dais.

"Indeed, my Lord, she may not make for a great addition," Siara said, turning towards him, "but she'll certainly be a better sibsig than a guard."

"Step forward already," Praset whispered to Xathi, eager to leave as soon as possible. She stood still for a few more moments, to make clear how much she respected his authority, then made her way towards the dais with her shoulders hunched and staring at the ground. The two followed her at a distance.

"Xaaathi!" Siara called out sweetly, spreading her arms as if to hug an old friend. "It is so _ wonderful _ to have you back already!"

The Infallible stopped short a few feet before the naga and knelt. Praset and Yudhom stood still.

"My Lord, I completed the task you assigned me," she said, ignoring the naga.

Silumgar expressed a rumble of approval and a few utterances Xathi didn't understand.

"Xathi dearest, you make your Lord very happy, as always. He says this good news was sorely needed, after the disappointment we just had."

Xathi raised her head enough to look at the naga. "Another one has been killed," she muttered.

Silumgar huffed. She did not look, but she knew he was staring at her. Calculating, scheming, fearing.

"Poor Situla! Those cowards murdered her in her sleep and scavenged her body for parts, like the disgusting rats they are," Siara despaired.

Xathi lowered her gaze again. "A terrible day for our clan."

"Yes… but at least we can always count on our favorite Infallible," she chimed. "So, what is the report?"

"Most of the crates were damaged, but the important contents have all been salvaged, except for an antique Ojutai carpet," Yudhom stated, "The mages were all killed, most of the sibsig were crushed or frozen, Commander Narin managed to flee as expected."

Silumgar huffed lazily.

"What conditions were the mages in? They were expendable, since we expected the ambush, but extra sibsig are always appreciated," Siara asked.

"Salvageable."

"Excellent."

"Not everything went as planned," Praset interjected, to Xathi's annoyance, "the monk escaped."

"She won't be an issue," Xathi replied coolly. "Either the Ojutai execute her or she dies in the wilderness."

“I wonder if Lord Silumgar agrees…?”

All eyes turned to the serpentine master. Silumgar bared his fangs and hissed a few Draconic sentences.

“Our Lord says you have nothing to worry about if your prediction is correct, Xathi,” Siara said with a sweet smile.

The Infallible bowed her head, submitting to the veiled warning. The last thing she wanted was for the dragon to perceive her as a threat.

"Well then," the naga resumed, "Xathi, you may return to your chambers. Yudhom, please go with her. Praset, we have a few matters to discuss with you."

Xathi stood up, bowed and turned to leave. She glanced at Praset as she passed him. The former Infallible seemed nervous. She regretted not being allowed to stay; most things regarding him were also of concern to her, in some capacity. 

She exited the room, accompanied by Yudhom and her suspicions. A small, zombified attendant shuffled up to her. "Infallible Xathi," it said with a short bow, "Mogai humbly requests your presence."

She looked at Yudhom.

"Visiting an acquaintance is always a wise use of one's time, Xathi. Not to mention pleasant. Let's go. " He smiled. 

She nodded. "Thank you."

///

"You look tired. Have some tea, I made your favorite," Mogai said, pouring the steaming beverage from the ceramic teapot. 

"Thank you," she took the teacup into her palms and looked around, letting the tea cool.

The scholar's living quarters were the perfect example of a gilded cage: a quick glance would only notice the kingly bed, fine furniture, succulent fruit, stacks of scrolls and the sibsig attendant that scrubbed the floor. A more attentive gaze would spot the golden chains and manacles hanging from the walls.

Mogai sat back down, the chain that linked his neck to the nearest wall clinking softly. The pale twenty-four-year-old had the blue, surgical markings on his bald head typical of the clan’s sacrificial mages and wore elegant dark robes with golden motifs. He had hazel eyes, large lips, and a pronounced jawline. Despite having almost never left his room, he was fit and muscular, a testament to the training regimen he followed. The Silumgari dragons didn't take kindly to out of shape pets.

A shiver ran down Xathi's back. This room always felt colder than the rest of the Fortress. She brought the cup to her mouth and took a small sip, testing the tea's temperature. It was just right. She closed her eyes and took a larger one, letting the sweet, delicate taste of orange and cinnamon tea overcome her senses and warm her all the way down to her stomach. She felt a bit better. 

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, looking back at him. 

"Yes. I have an exciting update and think it's time to share it with you," he leaned forward, folding his hands.

"What is it?"

"There's a team of rebels, operating right under Silumgar's nose. I want you to be part of it."

Xathi raised an eyebrow. "Rebels?" Something about his behavior seemed off.

"Yes! We've been running all sorts of operations, including dragon slaying. That Deathspeaker that was just killed? That was us! I was there when we slew her, I saw it with my own eyes!"

She leaned back. "I- hold on…"

She realized he kept looking back and forth between her and a spot to her right. She followed his gaze and saw the zombie attendant, hunched over the floor, methodically scrubbing the same spot it had been in since she'd arrived. 

_ Oh. _

She looked back at Mogai and cleared her throat. "Mogai," she carefully enunciated, "what you are saying is nothing short of treason, and is unacceptable. As soon as we finish our tea, I will report you to Lord Silumgar and he will do what he sees fit with you."

His shoulders sagged, almost imperceptibly. "Very well," he sighed, "you're right to denounce my crimes. I will accept whatever punishment our Lord will decree for me."

The zombie stood up, dropped the rag, left the room, and closed the door. 

"Such simpletons," Mogai muttered. He looked at Xathi, his expression suddenly darker. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to do it, but… they tortured me and said they'd keep going until I obeyed. They…" he looked away. "I didn't resist very long."

She placed her hand over his resting arm. "Tell me everything."

"They overheard Krakai brag about underperforming the tests in order to stay alive, and told him to give out three names of others who were doing the same or they’d have him eaten. Of course, they still fed him to the dragons, but the point is that the bastard named me as well.” He clenched his fist. “They told me they’d spare me if I got you to agree with treason, but I knew they were lying. I couldn’t do anything against the torture, though. But, luckily,” he continued, now looking at her, “you realized I couldn’t have been there for Situla’s death because I am never let out. I hope Silumgar’s doubts about you are quelled for now… but knowing him, they never will be.” He looked away again.

“Thank you… you saved me,” she whispered.

He smiled. “I’m happy to have been useful.”

“Mogai… I owe you my life in so many ways, you know that. I never would’ve survived on my own after they killed my mom.”

He didn’t answer.

“What do you think they will do to you, now?”

“End of the road for me. Some fat lizard is going to turn my head into a delicious snack.”

A few moments passed in silence, then she stood and walked around the table. “Stand up.”

He obeyed. He was quite tall, looming over her by more than a foot. She looked into his eyes, embedding his face into her memory. “Is there anything you haven’t had taken care of, yet?”

He shook his head. “I’ve given the important stuff to their next owners. Hopefully it will do them more good than it did to me.”

“Is there anything you need me to take care of?”

He smiled. “Just yourself, Xathi. Don’t end up like me.”

A sudden knot in her throat made it harder to answer. “I will be fine.”

A few moments passed, measured only by their breathing.

“Mogai,” she finally said, opening her arms, “allow me to give you a proper send-off, old friend.”

He leaned down and hugged her. Xathi’s arms closed around his shoulders and neck.

She knew what had to be done, but hesitated a little bit more. 

Then, standing on her tiptoes, she clasped her hand around his head, leaned in and whispered into his ear.

A fierce grin slowly formed on his face, even as the poison began to spread rapidly. “Is that so… you are incredible. I am glad… to have met you.”

She hugged him tightly. “Me too. I will always remember you,” she said softly.

He chuckled. “And I will always… watch over…”

They stayed still, enveloped in each other’s arms, as Mogai lost consciousness. Xathi jammed her eyes shut, holding back tears.

His arms let go of her back as his body went limp. She clenched her teeth hard enough to hurt, but gently lowered him back onto the chair. 

She did not want to look at him, but she couldn’t avoid a quick glance as she settled him in; his eyes were closed, but his mouth was slightly ajar. He almost looked asleep.

Xathi looked away, trying to focus on her task. Someone would probably check on them soon.

Firstly, she tucked the tiny poisoned needle back into the small cavity under her middle finger’s fingernail. The powerful, nerve-eating substance would ensure that Mogai wouldn’t be brought back as a zombie or eaten.

She then took an ornate knife from a desk and set it on the floor, next to his dangling hand. 

She picked up her cup of tea, closed her eyes, and finished it. She allowed herself a few moments to take in the flavor, knowing it would be the last time she’d taste it.

Opening her eyes, she smashed the cup to the floor, then flung the table aside. A loud crash echoed through the room as the ceramic and wood smashed against the floor and scattered their pieces everywhere.

A swift kick to her chair sent it smacking against the wall.

A few moments later, the door was slammed open as three guards rushed into the room, curved swords at hand. Xathi glared at them. 

The guards stopped in their tracks, unsure what to make of the situation.

Praset strode into the room, looking around as if he were an undecided buyer at a market. “Well. You’ve made quite the mess.”

“You were behind this,” Xathi spat. “This was your little project. Having him goad me into a rebellion.”

“I gave you the opportunity to demonstrate your loyalty. You’re welcome.” He glanced at Mogai’s body. “Looks like he didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” He chuckled.

“Don’t have too much fun on the job, Praset,” she admonished, walking towards the door. “A failed Infallible may still be a minister, but a failed minister is just another sibsig.”

She left the room before he could respond.

Navigating the grid-like setup of the mage compound was usually easy, but it took her a few tries before she got back to the main corridor. There, leaning against the wall opposite her, was Yudhom.

“You knew,” she said, standing in front of the compound exit. It wasn’t a question.

“Not the details, but yes,” he answered, holding her gaze. He was inscrutable, as usual.

She turned around and marched off without another word.

///

Xathi’s personal chambers were frugal, but the fact that she had a room all for herself was already high and above the treatment reserved for most of her clan.

After lighting a few candles fastened to the walls, she closed the door, locked it and glanced around. In the dim, wavering light everything seemed to be in the same place she’d left it: the cot against the far wall, the crooked chair and tiny desk on the left; her clothes’ chest next to it, some equipment and her weapons resting on the wooden shelves to her right.

She lowered her palm to the floor in front of the door and cast a quick spell. To her relief, a blue circle flashed around her hand, then disappeared.

She stood, satisfied that no one had been there in her absence. Walking over to the wooden rack, she unfastened her long arm sleeves and set them on a shelf, next to the pouches she wore around her pants.

After exchanging her vest for a light shirt and her boots for a pair of rough sandals, she sat down on the bed. She fidgeted with her hands for a bit, watching the nearest candle’s flame dance for her.

With a sigh, she stood up and grabbed her vest and another pair of pants from the chest, then stuffed them under the light sheet to create a vaguely humanoid shape. She admired her handiwork, then got to extinguishing the lights. When only the candle closest to the bed remained on, she got on her knees and reached into her pillow’s stuffing, pulling out a small metallic cross.

Reaching under her bed, she gently tapped it on the floor, searching for the right spot. A soft _ click _told her she’d found the magnet. She gently pulled upwards, lifting the makeshift handle and the hidden trapdoor with the magnet secured to it on the other side. Sliding herself into the square hole, she smothered the last flame with a flick of her wrist, then began descending the ladder, stopping only to pocket the handle and close the trapdoor above her.

She went down in complete silence, except for the clinking of her shoes against the metal bars. When she felt the light prickle of her magical wards on her skin, she turned her head away from the ladder and whispered a command.

Enchanted stones affixed to the ceiling showered the small room in green light as Xathi stepped off the ladder. She surveyed the laboratory, waiting for her eyes to fully adjust to the dimness. Several wooden and glass containers of various shapes were displayed on the four desks arranged against the walls; many more, she knew, were in their drawers, along with a few utensils. A small wooden crate functioned as a chair, whereas the two large chests to the sides of the ladder served a purpose closer to the originally intended one.

Xathi walked over to one of the desks and surveyed the equipment she’d hastily set down before seeing Silumgar: a thin bracelet that tied together a dozen black pills (though some of them were missing), a half-full leather flask, a minuscule, circular, metallic container with a string attached; and some rolled-up fabric.

She mentally took inventory as she opened one of the drawers and pulled out a large knife, a bowl, and a wooden board, setting them on a less cluttered desk. She went to a different one and snatched a pair of leather gloves, then walked over to one of the chests as she donned them. She pushed it open, slowly revealing the sea salt that filled it to the brim. Her hands dug into it and closed around a plump, fleshy surface. Careful not to spill salt, she extracted the large, black gland from the chest and stumbled it over to the wooden board.

She took a step back, admiring the lump of tissue that had shrunk to about a third of her size after being dehydrated by the salt. It had been a lot larger when she initially retrieved it from her kill, but then again, she’d had help transporting it back.

Xathi had worked on venom glands before, of course, but mostly those of lesser Silumgar dragons, occasionally a necromaster. She did expect a deathbringer to have more sizeable venom glands, but not to the point where she could barely lift one.

She poked at it with her knife, testing its solidity. Sunset was in about one hour, and she guessed it would take her most of the night to turn a gland this big into the mixture Veasna had taught her. She glanced back at the bracelet with the pills.

“Looks like I’m not getting a good night’s sleep this time either, huh?” she asked the slab of meat. She rearranged a few items on the desk, bringing two glass containers full of colored powder closer to the bowl. She didn’t look forward to the operation, but she knew it had to be done.

She thought of Mogai and her stomach cramped up. At least she had given him hope, in the last few moments of his life, that Situla’s fate may one day befall their cruel Dragonlord.

“I am a dragonslayer for Lord Silumgar,” she murmured, slicing through the venom gland, “there is no dragon I fear, save him. For now.”

It was going to be a long night.

///

Lishue was tired, but more than that she was hungry. She’d spent the first four days after that tragic encounter hiking along the edge of the jungle, heading north. The Kolaghan wastes were no place to travel alone and offered few opportunities for concealment, so she’d skirted around the dense vegetation hoping not to run into hostile forces. Apart from a platoon of sibsig, which she dispatched with ease, she’d been successful.

In the last two days, she’d begun her ascent towards the mountainous range that separated the Atarka territory from the Silumgar. She would’ve preferred familiar territory, but she sought elevation and isolation in order to meditate, something she was in desperate need of.

For almost a week now, she had spent every waking moment thinking about Xathi and Yetsunma, about the dragons and their clans. That day had clouded her thoughts, had turned her beliefs into doubts, had made her unsure about herself and her clan. She needed to reflect on the wisdom of Lord Ojutai. She needed to understand.

Her stomach growled. She also needed food.

Returning to the issue at hand, she glanced around. There was scarce vegetation on the rocky mountain she was climbing, and even less fauna. Food wouldn’t be an issue during her meditation, but it was hard to reach that condition of elevated thought and tranquility in such a state.

She kept walking, hoping to find something along the way. Ideally some sort of fruit or vegetable, but she was getting to the point where she’d consider poorly cooked meat.

She paused and leaned against a bare tree, catching her breath. The altitude was starting to affect her respiration. She took a deep breath, seeking to relax her body.

A sudden aroma of cooked meat caught her attention.

Finding it hard to resist, she followed it. She knew cooking almost surely meant Atarka scouts, but if she managed to assess the situation without being seen she could decide whether or not to avoid the confrontation.

The smell brought her to a nearby cave entrance, hidden by a large brush. Intrigued, Lishe stepped inside. The smell was very strong, making it hard to focus. She followed the natural corridor and the faint light that promised her a full belly.

She arrived at the edge of the tunnel, which turned into a large cave, big enough for a curled-up dragon. Several shelves adorned its walls, packed with trinkets and tools. A few fur covers tried their best at being a bed, and a pile of clothing on the side reinforced the idea that this was not a temporary residence. In the middle of the room, a timid fire caressed the slab of meat that was held above it by sticks.

Behind the fire sat a heavily-dressed hooded figure, sitting on a small fur carpet.

Lishue noticed another such seat on her side of the fire. That meant another Atarka, most likely out scouting.

She gazed at the mysterious cook. The figure sat cross-legged, hands on their knees, shoulders slightly hunched. Several trinkets dangled in front of their face from their large hood, making it impossible to see their features clearly.

She stood in the shadows, considering her options. The hooded person did not move. Perhaps they were asleep. Lishue gathered her courage and took a step forward, partially exposing herself to the fire’s light.

“Here you are, finally,” the figure exclaimed, motionless, “I was beginning to think I’d have to eat all this meat myself.”

Lishue froze, then she stepped fully into the light, standing straight and with her palms in a defensive stance. “I am not your companion, but I mean you no harm. I am very hungry. Please, let me take a portion of this meat and I will be on my way.”

The Atarka chuckled, then looked up at her. Lishue was surprised to see the face of a young woman smiling back at her.

“No need for all that. Please, sit down and let's enjoy this meal together. I’ve been expecting you.”

“Me?”

Her host nodded. “Are you not Lishue of the Ojutai, former dragonspeaker?”

“I am. But- how?”

“I had a vision. It gets lonely here, so I spend a lot of time meditating. Come on, sit down. You have questions.”

Lishue hesitated, then obliged. The shaman leaned forward and lifted the meat off the flames, then began partitioning it into two wooden plates.

The djinn took one when offered, and bit into the meat. It was delicious, easily chewable with a hint of spices that blended perfectly with its thick, juicy composition. Yet she did not recognize the taste. She looked at her plate, then at the shaman. “What meat is this?”

A thin smile parted her lips. “Atarka dragon.”

Lishue almost dropped her plate in shock.

“I understand your surprise,” the shaman reassured her. “I was also amazed at what happened… a part of me didn’t think I’d make it.”

“You… killed one all by yourself?” Lishue managed to ask.

“Yes. A rare occurrence, but a welcome meal.”

“You eat the meat of your own dragons?”

Another chuckle. “Normally they eat us. But I am not an Atarka. Not anymore.”

“Then what are you? And what do you want from me?”

The shaman locked eyes with her. Even though she couldn’t see her expression clearly, Lishue felt an undying determination in her gaze.

“I am Arel the Unseen, and I want you to help me achieve a world without dragons.”


End file.
